Sleeping Lessons
by Girl Anarchronism
Summary: Have you ever, ever reached a point in your life when you wonder how you even got there?
1. Prologue

**And Now for Something Completely Different (A Disclaimer):** There is no disclaimer. I own everything, and everyone. You, you, and yes, even you. Dance, my puppets, DANCE! MUAHAHAHAHA!

* * *

_My name is Stanley Michael Marsh, and this is my story. Like every other person my age, I'm just trying to make it through highschool unscathed. But in a town as fucked as mine, that's not very easy to do._

_I tell you this because, as my makeshift journal—or diary, whatever you prefer to be called—I think you'll understand. Some days, I need an outlet. And you, you may just be papers strung together by a piece of wire, but I need you._

_Oh, god, I'm treating a notebook like a person. I'm as crazy as Tweek..._

_I have a "girly" tendency, according to my dad, to overthink things. In some aspects, I guess it's true. But this kind of analyzing helps me sometimes. And other times, it just drives me to a state where I can't even sleep at night because I'm too busy replaying conversations and events long past in my head._

* * *

I near the end of my last sentence and slam my pen down, feeling an odd sense of fufillment. This is my daily therapy. A series of unsorted anecdotes, written in a plain, red notebook which is posthumously shoved underneath my bed where no one would find it. Well, until today.

Today was just another Sunday in a shitty redneck town—church, then boredom—until my mom stepped in and declared my room was too messy. So, I sat through one serious bitch-fit and a cleansing of underneath my bed, upon where she found my notebook and threw it in the trashcan.

First thing I did once she left was, of course, retrieve it. However, now I'm scrubbing furiously at an elusive slurpee stain, recovering lost artifacts from the space underneath my dresser, and pretending to listen to Kenny, my best friend, bitch on speaker phone.

It's not as bad as it sounds. Kenny's a nice guy, really, but he has a tendency to overreact to his rascist, classist friend's remarks. Then again, the previously mentioned racist, classist friend has no boundaries whatsoever.

Still, this isn't as torturous as I thought it would be. I've found lots of things I thought I would never see again. My eighth grade science fair project, a long-lost drawing of me by Leopold, the residential pussy, and... my fourth grade class picture.

It's kind of weird to look at myself all those years in the past, and even at the kids surrounding me. I'm in the first row, to the left, and right next to me is Kyle.

Just the sight of him leaves a sour taste my mouth. I bite back the melancholy feeling I'm starting to get in the pit of my stomach, and study nine-year-old Kyle.

He's frowning about having to take his hat off. He's always hated his bright red Jewfro with a passion. I've always kind of... liked it.

I remember this picture. His mother had pitched a fit about it, and insisted upon the school that Kyle, or as she called him, "Ki-yole", and all the other fourth-grade students had their pictures retaken because of his expression. I also remember that Kyle was not allowed to go anywhere but school for two months following the picture's retake.

My hat is gone as well, the bright red poofballed cap standing out and clashing horribly with the green cords I wore that day. (I can't believe how gay that sounded...) Still, I'm grinning earnestly through my mop of hair. Cartman, the fat, sociopathic, er, "friend" that I mentioned previously, sits far behind us, as wide as Kyle and I combined. Next to him sits Kenny, his heavily scarred face twisted into a mischevious smile.

"Hey! Stan, what's going on?"

Reality hits me, and I practically jump at the sound of Ken's voice. "Huh? Oh... yeah, nothing. Just found our old fourth grade pictures..."

I look again at the picture and lose my grip on the rag I was scrubbing with. It's been so long... everybody's changed so much.

Kyle, Eric, Kenny, me, Bebe..._Wendy_.

My ex.

I scowl at the thought of her and flick her right in the face, but she continues to smile saccharinely through the laminated paper. Let's just say that our breakup was a little messy.

"...that time when we put our Sea Men in her coffee?"

It takes a while for my brain to register what Kenny is talking about, but then I remember. "Oh yeah... I hated Ms. Choksondik." I laugh.

"Mhm, same here... " Kenny drifts off, and the distinct warble of his mom is heard in the background. There's a crackling sound, and Kenny replies something.

"..I'm sorry dude, but I gotta go, it's dinnertime. We're having raccoon!" Kenny says cheerfully.

I am glad that we aren't face-to-face, because really, the look of disdain on my face would make Kenny cringe. But I can't expect less from Kenny's family.

I blink several times, then speak.

"Uh... cool. Bye then." I muster, pressing the end button.

I sigh, take one last look at the picture, and attempt to throw it in the wastebasket.

Before I can though, I look once again at myself and Kyle. It just brings a hollow feeling to my stomach, and I toss the picture back where it was, in the now pristine area under my bed.

I keep on working for another hour until my room is perfectly clean, and then comes dinner. I eat silently, ignore any crude comments by my abusive older sister, and am the first to leave the table.

The rest of the night is spent watching cliche sitcoms and reality TV, until I can no longer stand the bitching of a contestant in some dating show and turn it off. Tired and burnt out, I climb into bed, even though I know that I can't fucking _sleep_.

This has happened for months now. But it's okay.

Because, if I'm lucky, I'll get a little rest in my boring classes tomorrow.

**A/N:** I'm not too happy with this prologue, but I figured I might as well post it as-is, and if it's too horrid, it goes bye-bye. I made a little movie reference earlier, and if you can name the movie, you get a grand prize of... -drumroll- NOTHING.

Feedback, constructive criticism, etcetera is appreciated. Please don't be too lazy to submit a review. :D (Because really, we've all been there. xD)


	2. A Girl

**AN: **First and foremost, many thanks to my lovely reviewers for the prologue; kyleisgod, Sweet Possum, Wolbachia, and Famous Living Dead. :3

Second of all, I don't own South Park. Duh.

This one is a bit shorter than the prologue, but that's because I have wayyyy too much material that I don't want to squeeze into just one chapter.

Enjoy. Or don't.

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I've been wide awake since I hit the sheets roughly three hours ago, and show no signs of falling asleep.

I peer at the digital alarm clock conveniently placed a few inches away from my face. It reads exactly 12:56.

Fuck. I have school in nearly six hours.

The blinds are wide open, and peeking through the gaps between them is a giant, red-tinged moon. It's a beautiful, if not weird sight, but it's one of the things keeping me up besides the thoughts of Kyle nagging at my conscience for full attention. I've struggled for a while trying to push them to the back of my mind, to make them last priority. And my attempts so far have been futile.

I throw off the rumpled covers of my bed and kneel, pulling hard on the cord attached to the blinds. They fold up into each other, and I press up into the glass to get a better view. I see the multitude of other houses, illuminated by moonlight and surrounded by pines. At the very end of the row sits Kyle's house, strange and empty-looking with all the curtains drawn. I sigh subconsciously, and a voice in my head tells me,_ ' You are such a pussy.' _

_'Shut the hell up. I am not.'_ Another voice retorts.

_'Look at you. You're arguing with yourself **inside your head**. You obviously—'_

"I said, shut the hell up!" I growl irately.

No sooner than I realize I said that out loud and mutter "Shit," my door gets a severe beating by my oh-so-wonderful sister who just so happens to be visiting from college at the time. I reluctantly open it.

"TURRDDDD!" She screams, lunging forward violently. "I'm trying to sleep so SHUT THE HELL UP!"

Needless to say, Shelley hadn't changed much over the years besides the lack of headgear.

I send a furtive glance towards my parents' room, but they're oblivious as always.

" AAARGH!"

Shelly glares at me menacingly. I bite my lip and notice how weird it feels to be dangling a few feet above the ground.

"Okay. Okay." I quip.

She grunts.

"I'll... erm... shut up. I'm sorry. Can you put me down _please_?" I plead, trying my best to not do or say anything that would further incriminate me.

She takes her tight grip off of my collar and I fall to the ground with a thud. Despite me being taller and a hell of a lot heavier than her, she can still kick my ass.

She sends me one last glare and retreats to her room.

"Damn." I murmur, closing the door. I rub at the spot on my neck where it was dug into by her fingernails. I crawl over to the space between my bed and the oatmeal-colored carpet, and grope around until finally my hand finds a familiar picture. Clutching the laminated card in my fists, I maneuver over to my bed and bury myself under the sheets.

Okay, so... let's think.

My sister can beat me up effortlessly.

And I'm in drama club.

And so what if I enjoy NSync?

...Yeah, I am a pussy.

I shift my weight so I'm not facing the window anymore. The fiery red color reminds me of him a bit.

If he were here, looking out the window, he'd say something about it being physically impossible for there to be a red moon. He's that much of a nerd... but honestly, I love it. It's one of his odd redeeming qualities.

I don't care how much it reinforces my previous statement about being a pussy, I miss him...

It all started two months before my 15th birthday. Even then, I was already not as close to Kyle as I used to be. However, we still tried to make time for each other.

The first time I hung out with just him and Wendy, they clicked. At the time, Wendy was my girlfriend and Kyle was my best friend. After just one night of working on a science project together, they were inseparable. And who could blame them? They had identical political views, they both showed disdain for the fatass, and they were both incredibly scholarly. Most people with half a brain crave intelligent conversation, and although I have a whole brain, I couldn't always provide Kyle with that conversation.

After a while, I couldn't restrain myself from thinking there was something more than friendship lurking beneath the veneer of their constant study sessions and outings. Eventually, my best friend and girlfriend spent more time together than I did with either of them.

Still, for some reason, I asked no questions. Wendy stayed my girlfriend, and Kyle stayed my best friend. On my fifteenth birthday, Wendy and I lost our virginity to each other. At that point, I was amazed that Kyle hadn't beaten me to her.

It went on like this for months, until, finally, one Saturday morning, I lost it. I was a lunatic by then. Maybe it was the fact that it was right under my nose, maybe it was the people involved, or maybe it was the fact that up to the aforementioned Saturday, I had been constantly bottling up any emotions I had.

I wish I could say some overused, cliché phrase like "People just grow apart" in regards to us. But it's not true. We didn't "grow" apart. Age never affected us.

What did affect us, though, was a girl.


End file.
